


But if it's Not Right (What Can I Do?)

by InkStainsOnMyHands



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, M/M, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands/pseuds/InkStainsOnMyHands
Summary: Ryan Bergara, host ofTrue Crime on Buzzfeed Radio, attracts the wrong person's attention.A twisted version ofPichiba'sradio!au.





	But if it's Not Right (What Can I Do?)

It started with what seemed like an innocuous disconnected call coming into the station.  

 

Ryan’s  _ True Crime on Buzzfeed Radio  _ segment began late on weekday evenings, spilling into the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t particularly surprising to get a drunk dialer or shy caller, who would hang up the moment someone answered. 

 

The radio host paid little heed to it until it became a regular occurrence. Like clockwork, he would press the flashing button on his phone’s console at 10:15 pm, only for the call to end the second he spoke. Regardless, as far as pranks went, it was far more annoying than harmful. 

 

Then, the caller started to breathe heavily for several seconds before ending the call. 

 

The first time it happened, a lightning bolt of anxiety struck Ryan’s pacing heart, leaving shocks across his crawling skin. His lungs burned for more oxygen with every masculine exhale the caller gave. 

 

After a week, however, it became another part of the routine, so much so that he began to get legitimate callers complimenting him on the compelling bit. “I can’t take all the credit,” Ryan breathlessly laughed. “My lovely mysterious co-host should get all the praise.” 

 

Several minutes later, Ryan answered a call. “ _ Thank you, _ ” they said, before hanging up. 

  
  


The next night, the mystery caller asked, “ _ Do you think you’d like me more if I was a serial killer? Would you pay attention to me then? _ ”

 

They disconnected the call before Ryan had a chance to close his gaping maw. 

 

* * *

 

A month after the caller began his nightly disturbing declarations, Ryan’s show was moved to the prime time weekend slot. Though no one confirmed that the promotion was due to his entertaining caller, Ryan knew that his newfound fame had little to do with his theories. 

 

While Ryan just wanted it to stop, his bosses were more than happy to encourage his goading the caller into conversations about murders, robberies and kidnappings. 

 

At the very least, his mystery co-host seemed to have some compassion, as he would soothe Ryan when the cases were just a little too rough. “ _ I wouldn’t ever hurt a child, even for you, _ ” he murmured after Ryan spoke of the Ramsey case. 

 

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want a kid to get hurt on my account ever,” Ryan said, keeping his voice smooth despite how increasingly difficult it was to accomplish such a task as of late. 

 

_ “You’re a good person, Ryan. One of the very few. You’re too good for this world.”  _

 

Ryan forced himself to chuckle into the microphone. “H-hold on, now you’re starting to sound like you’re going to hurt me.” 

 

They hung up. 

* * *

  
  


Fanfiction and fanart started circulating over the web, romanticizing the relationship between Ryan and his mystery co-host. 

 

Meanwhile, Ryan needed a glass of wine each night before bed just to fall asleep. 

 

* * *

 

“ _ Why do you still live on A street? _ ”

 

Ryan’s blood ran cold, freezing him to the core. He was unable to move or speak, except to utter an unintelligent, “S-sorry?” 

 

“ _ Why do you still live on A street? Those corporate stooges should have given you enough money to finally find a nice apartment now that you’re on prime time. _ ” 

 

Twin tears cascaded over his cheeks. Ryan covered his mouth with a quivering hand as he closed his eyes. He allowed himself a moment to regroup, to recompose; he couldn’t let this man know he had rattled him. 

 

Ryan swallowed back his sobs before claiming coldly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 

“ _ Ryan, you know I don’t like liars. _ ” 

 

The line went dead. 

 

* * *

 

Ryan changed tactics. Maybe if his stalker became bored, he would leave him alone. 

 

Fortunately, the higher-ups were enthusiastic about a supernatural segment to his show. With the popularity of the paranormal and macabre, it was bound to be a big hit. 

 

As predicted, it was not a hit with one particular listener. 

 

“ _ What are you doing, Ryan? Ghosts, demons? You know that’s all nonsense _ .” 

 

Ryan, despite himself, felt his mouth stretch into a catlike grin. “Sorry, sir, but if you don’t like it, you could just stop listening,” he offered with the tiniest hint of self-satisfied sarcasm.  

 

The man breathed audibly for a moment. Then, he growled, “ _ You should be more afraid of the real monsters out there, Ryan, the ones that can hurt you _ .” 

 

Ryan’s regret was immediate.

  
  


Ryan came home to find a box of popcorn at his front door, which was left slightly ajar. An index card that read, “sorry I lost my temper,” was taped onto its front.

 

With a single shaking breath, Ryan steeled himself for what he would find once he entered his home. A whimper escaped his lips as he pushed his door the rest of the way open, sure that his stalker would spring out from the darkness of his living room.  

 

To his shock, the apartment was kept immaculate. If anything, it seemed like his mystery co-host had washed his dishes and taken out the trash. Ryan wasn’t sure if that was less or more frightening. 

* * *

  
  


_ “I found a man today, Ryan. He looks just like you.”  _

 

Cold numbness filled the radio host. Ryan felt hollow, unable to feel anything but what became routine melancholy. 

 

Ryan leaned into the microphone, lips parted, but no words would tumble from his throat. What else was there left to say? 

 

“Mmm,” he forced out, preceded by a deep sigh. “I’m pretty unique looking. It was probably hard to find someone with as huge a forehead as mine.” 

 

The line was filled with silence, until the caller begged, “ _ Please don’t say that, Ryan. You’re so beautiful it hurts. Every second you’re not mine - it kills me.”  _

 

There was a sobbing, but with a rush of warm fear down Ryan’s spine, he realized it wasn’t coming from the caller.

 

“Who is that with you, sir?” Ryan asked hastily. 

 

_ “It’s a cheap imitation of you. I don’t like it. I. Don’t. Like. It.” _

 

Sweat pooled above Ryan’s brow. Every atom in his body vibrated. If not for how paralyzed he was with terror, a true, real terror, he would have given into his urge to vomit. 

 

“Please,” Ryan pleaded with a small cry. “Please let him go, if you really love me, you’ll let him go.” 

 

“I’m sorry, baby, I never meant to - I never meant for things to go this far, but I can’t go back now. I love you so much,” the caller said with a small, desperate voice. 

 

It would be the last time Ryan heard from his mystery co-host. 

 

The next day, a body was found in the LA aqueduct. His face was mutilated beyond identification, but aside from that, Ryan didn’t want to know the rest of the details. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, your headphones aren’t working?” 

 

Ryan jumped at the voice. It had been a year, but he would always remember that voice, the same voice that haunted his nightmares and the dark spaces of his mind. 

 

_ No, no, no, get yourself together, Bergara _ , he demanded of himself.  _ You've heard him everywhere. Remember what your Shrink told you _ . 

 

Ryan took a deep breath and glanced up from his console to the man standing at the entrance to his booth. 

 

By God, the man was tall and had the masculine physique of someone who could hurt him. But, his warm chocolate eyes seemed so gentle. His posture didn’t attest to a confidence that would lead him to stalk a DJ and murder a stranger. Upon further inspection, the man was quite attractive, far more handsome than someone who had to resort to a voice on the radio. 

 

No, this man couldn’t be  _ him _ .

 

“Y-Yeah,” Ryan finally answered. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” 

 

The stranger smiled; the expression put Ryan at ease. He approached, hand extended towards the shorter male. “Sorry, I didn’t. My name is Shane Madej.” 

 

Ryan took the man’s hand. “Ryan,” he introduced himself. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” 

 

Shane released Ryan’s shake with a tight smile. “Naw, been here for two years now, but no one really notices me unless something’s broken.” 

 

There was something so sad, so hurt in that statement; it spoke to Ryan. Was Shane a kindred spirit? Someone broken, in some capacity, like Ryan? 

 

Ryan wanted to move on, and maybe, maybe this person could help him. And, at the same time, he could help Shane, too.

 

With as much courage as he could muster, Ryan murmured flirtatiously, “Well, that’s a damn shame. You definitely seem like someone I’d like to get to know.” 

 

Shane’s cheeks flushed pink. “O-Oh?” 

 

Ryan giggled.

 

* * *

 

As Shane prepared for his first date with Ryan, he thought back on the last year. For all the guilt he had felt since murdering Ryan’s imposter, he found that same guilt dissipating from his conscience like a faint smoke. After all, it worked; Ryan’s attention was finally his. 

 

How could he regret that? 


End file.
